2nd Person Colt POV Warnings: Slash, profanity
You're busy; you're always busy these days. When you first signed with them, you had hoped you would get to see him more often than when you were out in the Indys. You got to see him whenever he was at OVW for TV tapings but when they moved their developmental program to Florida and you moved, he was never called down there. He was busy too, wrestling who knows where with ECW; he seemed to be having a good enough time with Heyman, though. A weird pairing, you thought but listening to him talk about Heyman, it was clear that he respects the man, values his opinion and Heyman seemed to be behind him. In OVW, Heyman pushed him, kept him at the forefront of the show, which is where Punk likes to be, for all his claims of humility, it's where he believes he should be. Now, Heyman is gone and he avoids talking work as much as possible. You're sure he's quickly getting frustrated with his position, Punk after all was the man in ROH and with Heyman's backing, he was essentially in OVW too.
When you first told him they were changing your name, he laughed at you. "Scotty Goldman versus CM Punk doesn't have quite the same ring." He told you and you agree, you couldn't agree more if you're honest. Scotty Goldman is a jobber and he's not even a jobber in the vein of The Brooklyn Brawler, he's just a plain old jobbing jobber. He asked you why they were bothering and you didn't have a good answer. You have theories on the name changing though, theories that are unkind to the higher-ups and to him. It was their decision to let him keep CM Punk, it's not his fault that by not changing his name it brought the entire ROH smark fan-base stomping over to see what the big leagues would do with their golden boy. Still it doesn't seem quite fair that he gets to be himself whilst you're Scotty.
You had the weekend off, heading home to Chicago for a few days, even if it was going to be freezing cold there, was all you wanted to do. You sent him a message asking if he'd be able to get home for the weekend.
Yup! I've got some news! - Punkers 18:56
Exclamation marks and a yup from Punk filled you with excitement, a large part of you hoped he was going to tell you when you were getting out of developmental. You already know how to hip toss a guy and you sure as hell know how to apply a headlock. You have an even greater hope that he's somehow managed to convince them that Scotty Goldman is a fucking stupid name and you can go back to being Colt Cabana, though you doubt that even Punkers, silver tongue and all, would be able to convince them of that.
When you get back home, the TV's on and he's asleep on the sofa, wrapped up in the ugly blanket you bought a while back when the heating in your place was broken and you didn't have the money to get it fixed for a few weeks. The ugly blanket has been sitting folded up on the armchair since you got the money to fix the heating. He looks peaceful, all curled up, fast asleep. You haven't the heart to wake him so you click the TV off and sit beside him, gently guide him over to you, rearranging the way you're both pressed together awkwardly and carefully so that you're lying down, his head on your chest, your arms around him, stroking his back. You missed this, missed holding him, missed the warmth of his body, the smoothness of his skin, the smell of his hair. You're sure his exclamation mark deserving news can wait till you wake up from the nap you feel encroaching.
"Morning." You wake to find him sitting on the table, a cup of coffee in his hands, another steaming away beside him.
"Hey." You take the other cup and sip at it carefully, you feel groggy and still half-asleep, spending the night on the sofa wasn't a good idea, you think. "So this exciting news is?" He grins at you, the ridiculous something awesome has happened grin.
"I'm working Wrestlemania again." You nod, he worked it last year, he lost but he was there, hell, he was there for XXII, sure, it was as an extra but he was there. You've been part of Wrestlemania too, granted it was when you were sixteen and all you did was punch Hawk but you were there and very much a part of it. "In the ladder match again." You nod again; you have a feeling you know where this is going. "They want me to win!" He crows with delight, you're almost certain you've never seen him this excited.
"The money in the bank thing?" You ask try as you might to sound happy for him, his excitement isn't quite rubbing off on you. You're happy for him but you're tired and a tiny bit disappointed.
"Yup!" He doesn't seem to notice your lack of enthusiasm or is ignoring it. You set your cup down and take his from him, pull him to your lap and kiss him thoroughly; you can probably hide your selfish disappointment that way.
"Bout time, Punkers." You tell him, forcing a huge grin on to your face.
"I know!"
He was insatiable all weekend, every second he was awake, he was wrapped around you, kissing, licking, biting, sucking. You even had sex in places that weren't your bed. The shower and the sofa are tied as places you're sure you're not letting anyone else ever use again; just looking at them summons images of him to your mind, his body writhing in pleasure at your actions, his face flushed with arousal, your smile on his lips. When he left for Raw it was with a soft, lazy smile and a slight limp, you felt a little guilty but you'd both been apart for so long and you can never help but accommodate his requests and he had made so very many of them over those two days.
The next time you managed to be in the same place at the same time, for any length of time, was to watch your debut on Smackdown. Your back against the headboard, his head in your lap, both of you tangled and sprawled over the bed in some motel, one thing you'll say for the WWE, even jobbers get good rooms. The World Heavy Weight title, the Big Gold belt, is sitting on the dresser, you've been carefully not looking at it, there's no way Scotty is getting any gold, man. He's laughing so hard at your loss, the I'm in a box had him laughing more than you'd seen in years, whilst you should probably be happy you've made him happy, it fills you with irrational irritation.
"It's not that funny." You tell him, shoving his head from your lap, causing him to give you an annoyed glare, you draw your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around them.
"I thought it was supposed to be funny." He's wiping tears from his eyes. You scowl at him.
"You're an asshole." You tell him, you know you sound more annoyed than you should, it was supposed to be funny but you wanted him to, well you aren't really sure what you wanted him to do but laugh at you, probably wasn't it.
"Yeah but you love me." He sounds unreasonably smug. You scowl at him. "You love me, right?" A tiny hint of concern enters his voice if you called him on it, he'd deny it but there is an undertone of worry there. That it's there at all makes you happy, sad and annoyed, to think that he'd still doubt you, your feelings, after all this time together. You cuff the back of his head gently.
"Despite the fact you're an asshole, yes." You watch his smirk soften into your smile and straighten your legs, pulling him to you. "You're an asshole but you're my asshole, Punkers." You kiss him softly. "I love you, asshole." You nuzzle his neck and press a soft kiss to his pulse.
"Good." He pulls away from you. "I love you, too. Now, what do you wanna do to celebrate your debut?" It surprises you how easily he returns the sentiment. It also surprises you how long it's been since you've told him you loved him. When he was in OVW, you texted him a new lemon every day to make sure he remembered you loved him but once he moved up to ECW, once you got offered a contract, once you started working developmental, you were busy. You were always busy, too busy to text him, too busy to spend your time carving lemons and it would have been too difficult to explain to the people you roomed with what you were doing. You think this is probably the first time in months either of you have said I love you. You pull him back to you and rub your noses together.
"You know I love you, Punkers." You place a soft kiss to his lips. "I love you so fucking much." Another Eskimo kiss. He smiles but you catch a hint of relief in his eyes. "I've a match tomorrow." You get off the bed and start undressing, he follows your lead. "So how do I wanna celebrate?" You smile at him and pull the covers back on the bed and lay down flat on your back. "I want to hold you, c'mere." You stretch your arms out to him, he looks at you confusion clouding his expression. When was the last time you just held him, didn't have sex as soon as you were alone for more than ten minutes? You think it was probably that night back in Chicago when you slept on the sofa. He settles in your arms soon enough, his head on your chest. "I miss you." You tell him, he laughs.
"Of course you miss me, I'd miss me too." The phrase sounds oddly familiar but you put it out of your mind and instead concentrate on stroking his dyed black hair, you miss the peroxide blond but he seems to be okay with the black. "You know you can call me any time, right Colt?" His voice sounds slightly off. "It's not like I sleep all that much and I miss you too, fucker." You feel something in your chest clench at his words, as though you hadn't expected him to miss you. You can't help but wonder if he misses you, why doesn't he just call you, then neither of you would miss the other. He presses a soft kiss to your chest, wraps his arms around you in an awkward and slightly uncomfortable hug. "I'm proud of you." He says and the residual irritation from earlier vanishes, like it had never been there in the first place. "I tried to persuade them that letting you keep your name was a good idea, that letting us team together was a better one but Creative are all fucking assholes." He speaks softly, his lips over your heart, brushing the skin of your chest occasionally. "Wouldn't know a good fucking idea if it choked them the fuck out." You laugh at him.
"They'd be unconscious, it's understandable." You tilt his chin, getting him to look at you. "Thanks for trying, Punkers." You brush noses with him again.
"Didn't do any good though did it?" He snaps, the look in his eyes saying I'm sorry, I tried but I wasn't good enough. You kiss him, stroking his hair back from his face.
"You tried, that's more than enough for me, Punkers." He looks dubious of your statement but as you keep stroking his hair, he relents and is soon smiling your smile once more. He tucks his head under your chin and you squeeze him tightly. "Move your arms, you're all pointy." You tell him, making him laugh and wriggle his arms out from under your body, to tuck his hands under his chin as he usually does when he sleeps.
"G'night Colt. Love you." You hear his voice so very soft in the quiet of the room, oncoming sleep always softening his more jagged edges.
"Good night, Punkers." You say as you keep stroking him, his hair, his back, over his shoulder, anywhere in easy reach. "Love you too." You fall asleep to the sound of his breathing for the first time in so very long, making a promise to yourself to buy some lemons at the nearest grocery store, as soon as you aren't so busy.
So this is the first chapter of the sequel to Tail of a Comet. (If you've not read it, I'd recommend taking a look, especially if you got all the way down to the author notes at the bottom, it'll explain the more odd comments in the story but mostly the lemons, if I'm honest...)
The original title of this sequel was At the Soundless Dawn but after my insane Art sophomores seriously got into a debate about how the World is going to end and told me the name of the impact crater for the spacerock that killed the dinosaurs and that it was probably a comet and not a meteor that caused their extinction, I couldn't resist calling it Chicxulub Crater. It remains soundtracked by At the Soundless Dawn by the incredible Red Sparowes. (I listen to pretentious post-rock, I am not ashamed.) We'll be working to the same formula as Comet only difference is that all of the Colt chapters will be named after the tracks on the album, Punk likes his wrestling terms too much to part with them. Timeline is looking to be late 2000's.
Anyway! Please review if you're reading! (I'm actually getting more busy, exam and pointless English speaking contest time is rapidly approaching so writing might be sidelined, meaning I might only update every 3 days, devastating for you all I'm sure.) Reviews are to my writing muses, what a block of cheddar is to China, something they both sorely need.